11. Ari
ELEVEN
ARI
Getting out of the lake had been the easy part. Breathing after— that was harder.
Cold water clung to my clothes, dragging at my legs like I’d picked the worst possible thing to wear for a lakeside party.
I’d been wearing joggers and a tee since I wasn’t in the mood to go into the water.
Not as heavy as jeans—but still too heavy when soaked.
The world tilted around me, headlights cutting across the water, faces blurring at the edges like they were smeared in smoke from someone’s bonfire drifting too close.
Every noise was sharp—shouts, someone’s phone going off, the rip of Velcro on the stretcher straps.
I wanted to tell them I was fine. I had the words ready. Swear I did. But they got lost somewhere between the burning in my throat and the way my ribs squeezed tight every time I tried to breathe deep.
When the paramedic’s hand caught my arm to guide me toward the stretcher, my knees almost buckled, just for a second—enough to make it awkward, enough to make it sting.
And then Daddy’s hand was on me, steady and certain, his fingers curling over my shoulder like it was nothing. Like it was everything.
I didn’t know whether I hated him for it or loved him for it. Probably both.
His thumb brushed the side of my neck, gentle but firm, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it—and that was somehow worse. That kind of care you give someone without even thinking. The kind of touch that said mine even if nobody spoke it out loud.
Then the straps clicked into place, boxing me in, making it feel like I belonged to the mess I’d created.
The cold hadn’t hit until I was out of the water. That’s how it always worked. Warm summer air giving way to lake water that wasn’t exactly freezing, just sharp enough to shock you when you weren’t ready.
I’d only climbed onto that dock to breathe for a minute. Shake off the weight. Clear my head. I wasn’t thinking about showing off. Wasn’t thinking about anyone . Wasn’t thinking at all.
And I slipped.
Should’ve known better than to climb out there in my Converse with their smooth soles, especially on those algae-slick boards. But that’s what I did—like I wasn’t already good at making things harder for myself.
One second I was upright. The next, underwater, lungs forgetting how to work, cold punching straight through my ribs until I broke the surface again, coughing like an idiot. Half the crowd staring. Someone laughing. Someone else reaching for their phone.
Now I was strapped down, dripping lake water from my hair, everyone around me already writing their own version of the story.
Of course someone said I was showing off. They always did. In a town like this, it wasn’t enough to just exist—you had to perform , whether you wanted to or not.
The paramedic worked with steady, practiced movements—this certainly wasn’t his first late-night lake rescue. His nametag read WALLACE. Early thirties maybe. Calm eyes. No judgment. He adjusted the oxygen mask, bringing it closer.
“Easy breaths through this, alright? You got some water in your lungs. Let’s get you sorted at Memorial.”
Sorted. Like I was a problem that needed to be filed somewhere.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Daddy again—not hovering, not pushing, just... there .
I didn’t want to need him.
Didn’t want to want him.
But God , I did.
And it wasn’t the wet clothes or the shock or the lake water still dripping down my back that made me shiver.
It was him .
Behind him, I could hear people talking— showing off , someone muttered again. Like I hadn’t just slipped like an idiot on algae-slick boards. Like I’d asked for all of this.
I was still catching up to myself when the stretcher shifted, lifting.
“Good,” Wallace said, glancing down at me. “You’re doing fine.”
Hospitals were always loud. Shoes squeaking on tile, nurses calling to each other, machines hissing in the corners. Even my own thoughts sounded noisy, like someone had turned the volume up just to mess with me.
It didn’t take long for the nurses to unstrap me, check my vitals, and start the usual rounds of paperwork. Hydration, oxygen, blood pressure. Questions. The whole dance.
Mom showed up somewhere between my third blood pressure reading and another flick of that little oxygen monitor they clip to your finger, wearing that old cream cardigan she only pulled out when someone was sick or scared.
It hung loose on her, sleeves bunched at the elbows, like she’d thrown it on in a hurry.
The second she walked in, I could tell she was trying not to cry.
“Ari...” She sat next to the bed, folding her hands like she was composing herself. “Are you sure you’re alright? They said?—”
“Mom, I’m fine. I slipped.” I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile, even though I was still vaguely damp and probably smelled like I’d lost a fight with the lake.
Which, technically, I had. “I wasn’t drunk, Mom.
I wasn’t doing anything stupid. I was walking by the dock, stepped on a slick board in wet sneakers, and ate it. That’s all.”
She didn’t respond right away. Just looked at me like she was trying to memorize every breath I took.
“It doesn’t matter how it happened, sweetheart.”
Her voice was soft. Steady, but barely.
“When the hospital called…” She paused, swallowing hard. “For a second, I thought?—”
She didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.
Her thumb brushed over my knuckles, like she was reassuring herself I was alive. “What happened after you fell in? How long were you in the water?”
That was the thing about moms. They wanted every detail—where, when, how—but all that came second to the relief of seeing you in one piece.
“My ego’s a little bruised,” I admitted. “And maybe my pride. But I’ve got all my limbs, I’m breathing on my own, and no one’s calling for a priest, so... I’ll take the win.”
Mom smoothed a hand over my curls, fingers careful not to tug too much. “You’re not thirteen anymore, running wild with Cael and daring each other to jump from stupid places.”
A smile tugged at the edge of my mouth. “No. I save the recklessness for special occasions these days.”
She gave me one of those Mom Looks that said I better not, but her hand stayed gentle on my head. “Don’t make me start coming to these parties with you.”
“Threat noted.”
When she finally left to talk to the nurse about taking me home, my phone buzzed against the thin blanket.
Cael: One day I don’t go with you, and you go full disaster boy. Rude.
A quiet laugh broke out of me before I could stop it. Figures Cael would time his texts perfectly.
Me: One slip and suddenly I’m the problem child again.
Cael: You’re always the problem child. That’s why I love you.
Me: Sentimental much?
Cael: Don’t make me cry at the tattoo shop. Clients don’t tip well when their artists are emotional wrecks.
Another buzz.
Cael: Also. I heard Reid showed up. Want to talk about that or nah?
Me: Coincidence. Small town. You know how it is.
Cael: Ari. Babe. You’ve had a thing for that man since, what, sophomore year in high school? Longer?
I didn’t answer right away. Not because he was wrong, but because he was too right, and that was worse.
Another text followed almost immediately.
Cael: Facetime. Now.
I didn’t even get a chance to argue before the call started buzzing.
I hit accept, and Cael’s face filled the screen—his hair glowing like a halo under the soft overhead lighting.
He angled the phone just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his forearm—sleeve pushed up, one of his own tattoos catching the light, fresh from a recent touch-up.
In the background, his workstation gleamed under the shop lights.
Voices murmured in the background, layered with retro synth beats—probably one of his coworkers playing DJ again.
“Look at you,” he said, grinning. “Still cute even when you’re half drowned.”
“I’m not half drowned ,” I said in mock outrage. “Just mostly embarrassed.”
“Embarrassment’s your baseline, sweetheart.”
Someone called Cael’s name offscreen. He glanced that way and held up a finger, then focused on me again. “You know you don’t get to brush this off, right? I heard Reid looked like someone lit him on fire and forgot to put him out.”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious. And you know I don’t get serious often.” He leaned closer to the camera. “Tell me why you haven’t made a move yet.”
“Because—” I dragged a hand over my face. “Because I’m not stupid.”
“Okay, that’s debatable.”
“Cael.”
“Fine. Enlighten me. Why’s going after what you want suddenly stupid?”
“He’s older. He’s friends with Sage. And I’m...” I trailed off, chewing the inside of my cheek.
“You’re what?”
I hated how quiet I went. How small I felt even thinking about this. “I’m the dumbass who keeps making scenes.”
“That’s not you anymore.”
I lifted a brow.
“It’s not,” he insisted. “Yeah, you used to be the kid climbing on rooftops just to prove you could. That’s not you now. And even if it was ? Reid knows you. You don’t spend that much time looking at someone like that unless you want something.”
My heart skittered. “He was at your shop last week,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Did he... did he say anything about me? Not like teasing or whatever—just... I don’t know. Like he thinks about me sometimes.”
Cael’s expression softened. “He came in for a consultation. Said he might want a piece—something personal. We were tossing around ideas, and I mentioned how you’ve always had a knack for the little details.”
I blinked, heart thudding. “And?”
“Reid smiled—kind of like caught himself—and then fixed his face like nothing was happening.”
I bit my lip. “So... was that a good smile or a ‘don’t-read-into-this’ smile?”
My best friend chuckled. “Oh, definitely a good smile. But he’s not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve.”
I stared at the cracks in the hospital ceiling like they might explain the universe better than Cael ever could.
“He’s got that whole ‘honor’ thing,” I said quietly. “Like... like I’m something he’s supposed to protect. That’s not the same as wanting someone.”
Cael’s expression shifted, all teasing gone. “Maybe you should let him decide what it is.”
Silence buzzed between us, stretching thin, like fishing line pulled tight across open water.
Another voice called for Cael again.
“Gotta go. Client’s ready.” He blew me a kiss. “Go get your guy, Ari.”
The call ended, leaving me staring at my reflection on the darkened screen.
Go get my guy.
Easier said than done.
But maybe... not impossible.
Not anymore.